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Chapter 1 - Chapter 1

Pain was the first thing he felt.

Not the sharp kind from bullets—that had already happened. This pain was dull and deep, like his body was trying to restart itself with worn-out parts. His lungs pulled in a breath that burned. His heart kicked, then steadied.

Vekom opened his eyes to a cracked ceiling. Water-stained. Faded paint. Flies buzzing overhead.

He sat up fast. The room spun, but instinct held him steady. His body felt wrong—familiar yet… off. Leaner. Covered in scars that didn't belong to him. The air smelled of sweat, rust, and something sweet rotting in the walls.

His name was still Vekom.

But this wasn't the world he'd died in.

Then came the voice. Calm, mechanical, inside his skull.

"Lord of Arms System online. Host synchronization complete. Welcome, Vekom."

He froze.

"Initial arsenal access unlocked: Tier Zero. Firearms and melee weapons from 1900–1959 available.""Credit balance: 0.""Objective: Survive. Profit. Dominate."

He stumbled to his feet, found a mirror nailed crooked on the wall. The face that looked back at him was his and wasn't. Same cold eyes, different frame. Scarred knuckles. Missing tooth. Whoever this body used to be, it was his now.

Outside, heat slammed into him. Medellín. He could tell by the accents, the narrow streets, the haze of cartel tension hanging in the air like fog. A newspaper flapped against his leg. He picked it up.

March 18, 1989.

His heart dropped. That name—Escobar—jumped off the headline like a shot.

This was a world on the edge of a gun barrel.

The voice returned.

"First-time summon available. Select weapon."

A transparent interface blinked to life in his vision. Neatly organized categories, just like the loadouts he used to scroll through in war games. He selected something simple, something reliable.

Colt M1911. Free trial.

The pistol materialized in his hand—solid, clean, loaded.

He exhaled. Then walked.

Two blocks down, he heard a scuffle. An alley. A man's panicked voice. Someone begging. A woman screaming. His body moved before he even thought about it.

Two young thugs had cornered a man in a suit—older, sweating, clutching a briefcase. One of them had a switchblade. The other, a revolver.

Vekom stepped into the alley.

"Wrong alley," he said, raising the Colt.

The one with the revolver turned and barely opened his mouth.

Two shots.

One hit the shoulder. The other took the leg. Screams echoed between the walls. The briefcase guy hit the ground, shaking.

Vekom walked forward and looked down at the bleeding punks.

"Tell your friends. I'm the one they don't want to meet."

They limped off, dragging blood behind them.

The man stood shakily. "Th-thank you. I'm Carlos. Carlos Rojas. Bank manager. I—God, I thought they were going to kill me."

"Could've," Vekom said.

Carlos opened his case and pulled out an envelope. "Please. I don't care what you do with it. You saved my life."

Vekom opened it. Neat stacks of pesos. "How much?"

"Two thousand," Carlos said. "Was headed to deposit it. It's yours."

Vekom took it without a word and disappeared before the man could change his mind.

"Funds acquired: ₱2,000. Converted to System Credits.""Ammunition menu unlocked. Weapon store expanded."

Later that night, in a crumbling back street where the city stopped pretending to care, he found opportunity.

Young men arguing. Talking revenge. Talking about cousins getting gunned down by a local gang. They needed weapons.

Vekom stepped into the conversation.

"I've got what you need," he said.

They laughed at first—until he showed them the goods. A Tokarev. A snub revolver. Two boxes of clean ammo.

One of them asked the price.

"Fair enough you stay alive," Vekom answered. "Not so much you can't shoot back."

He walked away with three thousand more in cash and eyes on his back.

"Profit gained: ₱3,000.""Inventory capacity increased. Black Market rep: [Seedling]."

He lit a cigarette under a flickering streetlight and looked out at the broken city.

He'd died as a pawn. Used. Thrown away.

Now he had weapons, money, and a system that bent to his will.

This time, he would build something.

And he'd build it with bullets.

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